


A Private Moment

by geminillama



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Reader-Insert, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 00:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19801039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geminillama/pseuds/geminillama
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale steal a moment on a dark street in the middle of the night, and you find yourself watching them. Is it really so bad if they don't know you're watching?





	A Private Moment

**Author's Note:**

> For my ESL <3

A strangled yelp from outside your window rouses you from sleep, followed by a clang and what sounds like a scuffle. The _what if_ s that come with living in a big city get to you – if something awful were happening outside and you didn’t do anything to help, you’d never sleep again. Quietly, you slide out of bed, grabbing your phone in case you need to call the police, and tiptoe over to the open window. Thumb ready on the ‘dial’ button on your screen, you peer out between the curtains at the dimly lit street.

There’s a flashy old car parked right outside your window, and a man dressed in black is pinning another man, dressed in beige with white-blond hair, against the side of it. As you watch, the man in black leans in and kisses the other man _hard,_ eliciting a surprised squeak from the man under him.  
The blonde pushes on the other man’s shoulders, breaking the kiss and trying to put space between them. You press closer to the window, straining to hear them speak.

“Crowley, my dear, not here,” he says, stuttering on the last word when the man in black, Crowley, pushes a thigh between his legs.  
“Aziraphale, it’s the middle of the bloody night,” Crowley says, lifting the man’s hands off his shoulders and lacing their fingers together, “it’s not as if anyone’s watching.” You flinch at this, embarrassment making you flush, but you don’t move. You can’t tear your eyes away. Crowley’s mouthing his way along Aziraphale’s jaw and throat, and you trace the path along your own throat with your fingertips. Aziraphale yelps suddenly – so it was his yelp that woke you up – and when Crowley’s head moves you can already see a dark bruise forming where Crowley must have bitten him. _Shit_ that’s hot.

“I suppose we’ve-” Aziraphale breaks off and gasps again, jerking his hands free of Crowley’s grip and cupping his face tenderly, “We’ve waited rather long enough.” He finishes softly, and for a brief moment they just hold each other, and you swallow hard. You suddenly feel that you’re intruding on something intimate, something infinitely precious, but you stay at the window, entranced.  
The spell breaks and they fall upon each other again, the streetlight catching on Crowley’s auburn hair as Aziraphale slides his fingers through it. They’re grinding against each other in earnest now, hands everywhere and clutching each other close, closer; gasping for air between long kisses that are somehow stealing the breath from your lungs too. Crowley rolls his hips against Aziraphale’s, his movements fluid and sinuous, and the breathy little moans from each of them makes your own hips jerk against the empty air.

Oh, you should look away. You know you should. But _fuck_ , they’re so into it and okay, yes, it’s been a while since you got any. Besides, they’re the ones going at it on a public street and can’t see you and is it really that bad? You can’t tell anymore whether the racing of your pulse is shame or guilt or arousal. Maybe it’s all three. You rub against the heel of your palm and bite back a whine at the _yes-just-there_ pressure. You’re so fucking close but you pace yourself, moving in time with the men outside. For a wild moment you think about opening the curtain, of them watching you watching them, and this time you can’t stop the needy, desperate noise that escapes your lips.  
“Angel, I-” Crowley groans, hips faltering in their rhythm, and Aziraphale breathes “ _Yes_ , love,” in response, and that’s all it takes to undo them both, and you along with them. They lean against each other for long minutes, their breathing gradually evening out as they come down. They shift their weight off the car and each other and help to straighten each other’s clothes with long, lingering touches. It’s so unexpectedly domestic that it makes your heart ache with a sudden pang of loneliness.   
There’s an almost unbearable sweetness in the way Crowley escorts Aziraphale around to the passenger side and opens the door with a flourish; an answering sweetness in the small, warm smile Aziraphale gives him before folding himself into the car.

Crowley closes the car door gently after Aziraphale, and then moves back around to the drivers side door. Here he pauses, and looks up. Oh _fuck_ , it feels like he’s looking right at you. You take an involuntary step back, then chastise yourself. _Don’t be daft, he couldn’t possibly-  
_ “That was _not_ meant to be audience participation.” he hisses, and it must be a trick of the streetlight because his eyes seem to flash yellow. The menace rolls off him in waves and freezes you where you stand.  
He takes a step towards your window as he pulls a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket pocket. “You are going to forget everything you just saw.” He commands, and you swallow thickly. “In fact, you’re going to wake up tomorrow and leave London. _Don’t come back._ If I see your spying face again…” He trails off, sliding the glasses onto his face. He raises a hand, and snaps his fingers-

_“Who were you talking to out there, Crowley?”_

_“Oh, that, ‘s nothing. Talking to myself. Home, yeah?”_

You shiver. The window’s open. You don’t recall getting up, but you close it anyway and slide back into bed. A car motor roars outside. You feel vaguely sick and notice that you’re trembling. Maybe you’re coming down with something. _Maybe I should move_ , you think, as you drift into an uneasy sleep.


End file.
